Motivations
by Dervon Sint
Summary: A look at the motivations behind the champions that take part in the League of Legends. Each part covers one or, on occasion, several champs. Occasional violence or suggestions thereof, largely dependent on the champion s in question.
1. Mix mix swirl mix

-Motivations-

Part 1: _"Mix mix swirl mix."_

"ONE HOUR UNTIL SUMMONING."

The loud boom of the speakers drowns for an instant the constant bubbling sound that fills the room. In it's center, standing by three tables covered in beakers, vials and other implements of alchemy, a bandage-wrapped man looks up for the barest of moments before returning to his work.

"… -two-hundred milligrams of- … -three parts night-bane powder to two parts whisper-seed extract- … -heat until just below boiling- …"

His mind ran over the complex formula time and again as his fingers deftly prepared it from the ingredients on the tables before him. It was one of his first mixtures, taught by a great master of the craft. Focusing on the original recipe was one of the ways he had found to relax while working, even though often the work he prepared was nothing like that original, simple brew of death…

_/"You will do well to remember, boy, the effects of whisper-seed extract on the lungs. As a staple ingredient in the killing-gases we prepare, you'll be working with it often."_

"_Yes, master."_

"_Now, can you tell me what properties whisper-seed has, while still unrefined?"_

_The young boy, barely in his teens, doesn't hesitate for even a moment._

"_None, master."_

_The grizzled old man, face pockmarked by the effects of working for years with dangerous chemicals, allows himself to smile._

"_And why is that?"_

"_Because only when refined and extracted does the essence of whisper-seed reveal it's true potential, master."_

"_And that potential is?"_

"_Rapid and extensive scarification of the lungs when inhaled in a vaporous state, in small quantities. In larger quantities a process of active carbonification of the lung-tissue occurs. Victims are often described as having had their lungs turn to ash."_

"_Very good, boy. Keep at it and you'll be taking over my position in no time."_

"_Yes, master."/_

That things had changed soon after, revealing his former master's words to be somewhat prophetic was a fact that no longer crossed the alchemist's mind.

"… -amplify the effect though distillation- …"

That years working for the armies of Noxus, supplying them with the finest and deadliest chemicals and poisons had left him a scarred and bandaged wreck, far worse off then his former master, was another fact that troubled him not in the slightest.

"… -prepare a heating mechanism to vaporize the mixture at a moment's notice, strapping it to the bottom of the receptacle and then- …"

That his original desires of wealth and security had long since eroded, to be replaced with the pure thrill of seeing his work in action; of seeing how quickly or slowly his potions and mists took hold, how widely or selectively they could kill, was the last fact that had long since led to a simple truth.

_/ "And this, boy, is something we supply to our own troops. A mixture from the far north, used by the warriors of those lands to lend themselves the strength of a dozen men at the cost of their own sanity. You would do well to remember, however, to treat it with the utmost caution. Our benefactors know all too well to only equip expendable soldiers with it, and our minds are far too valuable to risk with self-experimentation. You understand?"_

_The boy eyes the red-tinted bottles with a different expression to the craftsman's respect with which he had treated all the other works he undertook under his master's guidance. It was almost like finally understanding a hunger he had always experienced but had never really been able to put a name to. Until now._

"_Of course, master."/_

"FIVE MINUTES UNTIL SUMMONING."

"… mix mix…"

The boy who had watched attentively as he was taught the art of death had, in his own way, died.

"… swirl, mix…"

"FOUR MINUTES UNTIL SUMMONING."

And what had remained, surviving even though it's body was laced with enough venom to slay a dozen lesser men, was something that in it's own turn lived off of death.

_/The first time he had seen his work in action he had laughed, delighted in the death and destruction. His alchemical creations, works that sometimes took only days to prepare could eradicate what had taken decades to grow and mature. The young, the old, the strong and the weak. They were all equally vulnerable to his works._

_The boy laughed as the master watched with thinly veiled dissatisfaction./ _

"THREE MINUTES UNTIL SUMMONING."

"I hear you…"

The man secures a large glass jar filled with a green substance to his own back, then picks up several smaller bottles filled with the red mixture he had been working on and ties them to his belt.

_/ "We don't do this because we enjoy it, boy. We do this because there is a need for it to be done, and we are the best at it. Everything else is secondary to that. Money, power, influence. All of it is secondary to the simple need for the work to be done. I hope you understand that"_

_Perhaps for the first time, the boy looks at his master with something approaching contempt._

"_Of course, master Warwick."/_

"TWO MINUTES UNTIL SUMMONING."

"It's nearly time…"

He walks over to a one of the tiny room's walls, where a massive tower-shield, worn and battle-scarred, lay propped-up near a grime-encrusted window. With no small amount of effort, he manages to strap it to his right arm. The weight of it and the large jar almost tips him over, and after a small pause to regain his balance, he uncorks one of the red bottles and takes the smallest sip he can from it. Almost instantly he seems to change, the weight forgotten in an instant.

"ONE MINUTE UNTIL SUMMONING. ALL NOXIAN CHAMPIONS, PREPARE FOR DEPLOYMENT."

The man lets out a roar of laughter as his mind clouds under the effect of the berserker-brew. He scarcely feels the magic of the Summoning filling his begin, nor the telltale rush of air as space itself is displaced. The faintest glimmer of conscious thought surfaces, and he has time to utter one final sentence.

"How about a drink?"


	2. Blood can Bloom

-Motivations-

Part 2: _"Blood can Bloom"_

"One hour until summoning."

The small wall-mounted speaker, set in an elegantly carved wooden box, delivers it's message and gives her a moment's pause from the work that had been absorbing her attention. The richly decorated apartment, all crimson velvets and _rouge_ decorations, seem almost incongruous with it's solitary occupant, her hands working on sharpening a Ionian throwing-knife, one of many she possessed. The exquisitely balanced weapons had been taken, posthumously, from a group of warriors she had encountered whilst on covert operations in those distant islands. The soldiers and assassins of that land, with their odd fighting styles and abilities, had nonetheless all fallen when they challenged her. They never once guessed they were facing one of Noxus's elite. They always underestimated the red-headed girl, always proved weaker then they could have been. She hated them all, hated them for not being what they could have been. They could have danced with her, but instead...

Instead, she remember a trio that almost, _almost_ were the partners she sought all her life. The kind of people that could have danced to her steps. One of her hands goes up to the scar across her left eye, and a vivid memory surfaces from the depths...

_/"It ends here, Noxian." _

_Impassive eyes stare at her from behind the purple wrappings that cover the warrior's lower face. _

"_She's fast, isn't she? Fast fast fast." _

_The short warrior seems to twitch constantly, as if the act of standing still is an incredibly difficult feat for him. Constant bolts of static electricity zap the leaves around him._

"_Almost as fast as you, brother. Almost."_

_There is hint of familial sarcasm to the way the female warrior says the word brother, and her adapted kamas make lazy arcs through the air as she juggles them from hand to hand. _

_The three Ionian soldiers – no, she corrects herself mentally, not simply Ionian grunts, but elite Kinkou shadow-warriors – surround her, perched on tree-branches that should not be able to support their weight. _

_Blood trickles from dozens of small cuts, mostly courtesy of the short Kinkou warrior's throwing-stars. A large gash across her left arm was proof enough that the female Kinkou knew well enough the value of quick, unpredictable strikes. But it was the impassive professionalism of the apparent leader of the trio that worried her the most. He had hung back, observing his companions battling and dashing in occasionally to force her to give up on what could have been a good blow against the other two. They worked well together. Very well._

_She wished the dance could have gone on for longer. She wished that she could have fought them individually, to obtain the maximum enjoyment in matching herself to their strange abilities. Alone against the three, the dance would not last long, she was far to certain of that fact. But she had always hunted alone. She had learned how number could be made to mean little. And she was the best Noxus's instructors in the arts of death had to offer._

_Her dance would not end here, not until..._

"_Oh, how very right you are. It does end now." _

_A voracious expression seems to spread across her face, and she drops her body into a low stance. Throwing-knives appear from nowhere in both her hands, and she wraps her arms around her body, as if hugging herself. The leading Kinkou notices the carvings on the blades, recognizing them as having belonged to others in his order, and a cold shiver runs down his spine. He begins to shout something-_

"_Ready to surrender?"_

_-she begins her spinning dance, and death flies in all directions."/ _

She holsters the blades on her belt and stands up, walking lazily to a large mirror on her wardrobe door. Once there she adjusts her long red hair with a comb.

"Thirty minutes until summoning."

Her mind wanders once more, to the origins of the dance, and further. To habits taught and learned. And how some old habits never really die.

_/"Your instructors sing nothing but praises of you, my dear."_

_She moves through the motions of the Lotus Dance languidly, as if listening to a slowly flowing dance in her head. She never bothers to try and respond to her father's idle talk. He seems to like the sound of his voice, and besides it is rare indeed for something others might say to affect him. Indeed, it was more for his own standing that he allowed her to choose her own path in life._

"_They say you've already shown a great capacity for performing Shunpo. To be honest, I never really understood why they bother to teach skills taken from the Ionians. Or for that matter, from any of the other dogs we've contended against. Noxus has always prevailed with it's own might."_

_She ignores his musings and twirls three times in quick succession, hands moving outwards each time in a move that a dancer might simply view as odd, while a killer would recognize as the right flick of the wrist needed to throw a well-crafted blade with some accuracy."/_

"Ten minutes until summoning."

She allows herself a moment of languid relaxation, stretching and twisting as the memories play across her mind. She sits on the corner of her bed, and thinks about that which mattered the most to her. The Dance...

The Dance had always been her obsession. Her father had seen it, called it something else, something he could be proud of. He sent her to be trained, to live a life as different from that of her sister's as could possibly be imagined. They would marry into the Noxian elite, help tie the Du Couteau name to others, strengthen the bonds within the militaristic nation. But she...

She had always felt the Dance. She felt it every time she fought. She felt it flow towards her just as her opponents rushed to meet her blades. She felt it ebb, always with a sense of disappointment, when they died, or worse, tried to run. Disappointment...

All of them had disappointed her. Her father had given it a name, but he always sought to direct it, always sought to make it his own. They, the nameless hundreds or thousands, had disappointed her by not matching her steps, not making her blood pound. The Kinkou had come close, but to fight all three at once would make for a short, brutal dance, hardly worth experiencing.

All of them had disappointed her. All of them, except...

…...

"**One hour until summoning!**"

The courtyard loudspeakers boom over the sound of clashing swords, of shields and armour and warriors training. In pairs and threes and fours, they train. They are the pride of Demacia, the paragons of it's army. All of them, proven veterans of dozens of one stands above all the others. He who trains alone, slashing away at foes unseen. He who has earned the tittle of "The Might of Demacia". They all look up to him as an exemplar of what they may, one day, obtain: perfect discipline.

His thoughts, however, are anything but disciplined.

_/"It tires me, sometimes."_

_The crouching soldier glances upwards at the figure in gleaming armour._

"_Sorry, sir, I don't quite follow."_

_He bandages his left arm, a broken shield discarded to the side. His armour, unlike that of his superior, is a burnished grey, the colours of Demacia hidden under a layer of mud, grime and gore. _

"_Sometimes, I feel the weight of my years upon me. I feel how my hands have grown old, how my eyes no longer pick up the subtle movements of my opponents."_

_The knight stands impassively upon a small hill, gazing around at the silent battle-field. He looks as if he hasn't even seen combat, though the soldier knows better. A few hours before, as the sun shone brightly in the cloudless skies, two armies clashed. _

"_I feel how my time is coming to an end."_

_The soldier can scarcely believe what he hears. A knight of Demacia, a paragon... Talking as though he has lost all hope?_

"_I feel a regret in my heart that can never be righted."_

_For a paragon to lose hope... They, the greatest Demacia has to offer..._

_The soldier forgets his pain for a moment, his undivided attention given unto the old warrior. He notices how the knight leans on his two-handed broad-sword as though he were leaning on a cane. For all the gleaming armour, for all the tales of heroism and discipline..._

"_And now, they send a pup to look after me, to see why I linger here, lost in thoughts..."_

_The soldier wants to say something, to defend himself or ask the knight to explain himself. Yet something moves him to remain silent. For the longest time, those two figures on that hill overlooking the battle-field are still. The setting sun bathes the scene in red and orange light._

"_Do you know what a man who attains near-perfection in the art of war wishes for, more then anything else? That which defines his every waking moment, that which drives him in every battle he fights? That which I now fear I will never find before my own body betrays me?"_

_Silence._

"_I'll tell you..."/_

**"Thirty minutes until summoning!"**

Again and again, he slashes the old knight's broad-sword through the air. It was his, now. He had brought it back from the battle that claimed the old warrior, and shortly thereafter it was granted unto him along with the tittle the knight bore.

Yet before the title and sword were his, already he possessed something the previous Champion had seen fit to pass on.

_/He gazes impassively the cooling carcass of the massive Noxian warrior that had killed the old paragon. It had taken all his hard-earned determination to not kill the behemoth when it was captured by his unit, instead bowing to the wishes of his superiors that the Noxian be brought back for public execution. Blood still trickled slowly from the stump of the warrior's neck._

_The soldier sighs, an odd feeling of regret taking primacy over what he think he should be feeling. He walks away from the execution-platform, his steps taking him towards the training-grounds._

_Above, on the rooftop of one of the city's taller buildings, a silent flash of crimson vanishes into nothingness./_

"**Ten minutes until summoning!"**

"I think I understand, now." he straightens up, and plants his broad-sword into the ground. Closing his eyes, he allows himself a moment of rest before the coming battle. He speaks softly, to himself, and the sound is drowned out in the cacophony of his fellow knights training. "It took me years understand it, to put a name to it."

""Where can one go, when one reaches the top? When one stands alone, and all below him are not strong enough to ever be a challenge?", that's what you asked me that day, on the hill. You were afraid that you'd lose not to someone worthy of claiming your death, but rather to yourself. You never met your perfect challenge."

A smile plays across his face.

"But I have, old man."

…...

"One minute until summoning, all Noxian Champions, prepare for deployment."

She is already on her feet.

Her anticipation is palpable, because she knows...

The only warrior to ever match her steps... The only man to ever dance with her just as she has always desired...

She grins voraciously.

He'll be there.

…...

"**ALL DEMACIAN CHAMPIONS, PREPARE FOR DEPLOYMENT!"**

A cheer erupts in the courtyard as the Paragon of Demacia is swept up in the magic of the Summoning. His fellow knights raise their fists and voices in a salute to the one they see as being the embodiment of the perfect warrior.

But he doesn't hear them. His thoughts are consumed by a crimson colour, the smell of steel and a haunting smile. Her unmatched beauty at odds with her unmistakable thirst for battle. His perfect challenge.

He smiles at the thought.

She'll be there.

…...

A dance of death. A worthy opponent.

Between the two of them, blood blooms.

...

**AN**:

I think I'll save the actual "Garen meets Katarina" scene for another time, possibly another one-shot. OTP FTW, as they say. XD

Poll to give me an idea of what your champion preferences are is now up on my profile. Clicky clicky!


	3. Balance & Hate, Part 1

_Seven years..._

"Nonetheless, it _is _your only option. All other possibilities have been exhausted, and the League is willing to intercede in this way and this way alone."

The flickering projection darkened the centre of the well lit room. An image of a man, his features obscured by a heavy hooded robe, seemed to cast shadows on the hearts of all those who had gathered to discuss their last hope.

Silence reigns supreme.

"Make you choice."

_Seven years of hell..._

The Ionian leaders glance wearily at each other. They had been told that there would be chance for resolution, that there would be a possibility to end the war with the Noxian invaders once and for all. But they hadn't been told of the cost or of the incredible toll should their gamble fail.

The League representative had dispelled all illusions. The rules drawn out and laid bare.

There _had _been hope.

"We... We accept the League's terms..."

Now, there was only the realization that perhaps they were making a deal they would ardently regret.

"Understood. Choose your champions. You have a fortnight to prepare."

The image vanished as the League representative cancelled the projection spell, leaving nothing but doubt and fear in his wake.

"Who... Who will we call?"

"We've been in communication with the Kinkou Order. They've allowed one of their three-man cells to battle on behalf of all of Ionia."

"Can they be trusted?"

"Can we risk not doing so? The Kinkou have fought the Noxians with as much passion as any other Ionian. And if the stories of the League are true, then we are wholly unprepared for the champions Noxus will field."

"Which cell are the Kinkou sending?"

"The Fist, the Heart and the Eye."

_Silence._

"Then.. Perhaps there is yet hope? We need but two more champions."

"There is a Wuju Blade-master who will gladly fight for our cause."

"A practitioner of Wuju? But were they not..."

"One remains. And I can guarantee his hatred for those who left him with nothing but solitude burns brighter then the mid-day sun."

"That leaves us with..."

"We know who shall be out last. She has already partaken in League battles. She has already faced Noxus on the League's battlefields. And she is most sympathetic to our cause. I suppose her kinship to us, hard as it may be to see today, does move her heart. We are certain of her participation on our behalf."

"Then it is settled. The five shall face Noxus."

"If they fail..."

"Fifteen years..."

"No chance to retake the provinces by force..."

"We are beholden to the League's rules regardless of outcome, my friends. All we can do is pray..."

_And hope..._

* * *

"I... I worry."

The blue-skinned mystic sat opposite one of the Ionian monks of the council.

"This is about Yi, is not?"

"He seems-"

"Overly focused? I'd imagine he'd be. We're offering him a chance like no other."

"Is it not... Beneath us to use his emotions thus?"

The monk closes his eyes in contemplation, exhaling slowly.

"Perhaps. Though it loathes me to say so, but sometimes we must think of the many, and put their needs before the needs of the few."

"Still-"

"If he worries you so, my dear Soraka, then by all means ensure his safety in the battle ahead. Perhaps of all the members of your team, he is the one most in need."

Wrinkles in the ageing monk's face curve upwards as he smiles.

"And as for them, I am sure the Kinkou will be invaluable on the battlefield. Their loyalties are to their order first and to us second, but are we not all Ionians?"

Across from them, in a training yard the monks used for sparring, three figures leapt and struck at each other with the practised rhythm of long-time combatants. Every once in a while, the sound of an ability discharging could be heard over the steady din of weapons parrying blows. Lightning would periodically flash from the clear skies and hit the ground were one of the three would have been standing mere moments beforehand.

Further back, under the shade of a blossoming cherry tree, a lone warrior sits, methodically sharpening a massive two-handed sword. The task consumes the warrior's every ounce of concentration, almost as though if he were not occupying himself with some idle task, he would be compelled to take action, any action. Anything to keep the memories at bay.

"We will hold hope in our hearts, my child. You will succeed where we have failed for all these long years of war."

The leader of the trio signals a pause in the sparring. As his companions rest, he glances for but a moment at both the single-minded warrior and the blue-skinned mage. The second flows past, and he signals the renewal of the training.

_One heart, alone among so many, hoping that the wise-man was right._

_Three souls united as one, void of desire, their path already decided._

_And one mind, sharper then the blade it beheld, as empty as the souls of the three, and lonelier then the heart would ever know. _

* * *

...who...

...matters not...

...victory unquestionable...

...nonetheless...

...her?...

...Demacian assignment, unavailable...

...the raven?...

...he is... Likewise unavailable, the reasons being...

...then?...

...simple...

...the axe shall guard...

...the cleaver shall strike...

...the rat shall stalk..

...the wolf shall slay...

…and the rose shall lead...

...doubt?..,

...none...

...hope?...

...none...

...a triumph eternal...

...Noxus above all others...

...Noxus above all others...

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I had actually written this out prior to the announcement of the Ionian vs Noxus rematch. It's meant to be their first League-sanctioned fight, which occurred seven years after the start of hostilities between the two nations, if I'm getting my lore right. I hope this clears that up!

ADDENDUM: Since two people have asked in me reviews why I placed Twitch on the Noxus team: According to the lore, Twitch's one desire is to replicate the process that granted him sentience. He is formally aligned with Zaun, and Zaun has stated that they support his ambitions. Zaun is allied with Noxus. There is a note to the effect that Zaun's champions and mercenaries fight on behalf of Noxus on many occasions. There is also a note of the dislike Zaun has for the Ionians. Finally, Zaun fought alongside Noxus during the Ionian invasion. Hence, his presence on the team is hardly surprising, nor does it go against lore.


End file.
